Archive for the ‘marriage’ Category

date with Alana and other possibilities
October 5, 2007

She sat me down on a plush sofa, brought me a robust glass of red wine, and disappeared back into the kitchen. Then she called me into dinner in this gargantuan dining area, appeared from the kitchen door carrying two square ceramic plates with a supernova-looking aqua glaze, on top of which she had prepared two plates full of vegetarian sushi with pink radish garnish. It was truly edible art.

“Better to be an older man’s princess than a young man’s whore,” my college friend Danielle used to say when we poked fun at her for dating a forty year old. I hate to say it, but I’m starting to see Danielle’s point.

I know Alana has the money to wine and dine me; she’s one of the rare few who can make good money from figure painting. But I don’t want to be someone’s pool girl, like I said. Still, I can’t say I hate being catered to once in a while, considering that I’m on my feet for six or seven hours most days sloshing trayfulls of booze everywhere.

After some relaxing and a rockin’ back rub, I had to set some boundaries.

Darcy: So, if you’re still with your husband, then…I’m also going to date as well.

Alana<pained expression>: If you’d like.

Darcy: Okay. I will.

So I set up a date with Emma, the girl who left her number for me at the bar, this weekend.

The rest of the night at Alana’s was spent looking at photo albums by the light of dimmed lamps and all of these gorgeous candles she has on sconces around the walls. And there was a kiss or two exchanged. But I’m trying to put the breaks on until I can see things a little clearer. I hope I’m not jumping in too deep here. And even if I am, it beats spending the time watching things like it happen on TV.

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quickie
October 4, 2007

About to drive to Kickboxing at the Y, then come home, shower, paint my toenails Amelia Redheart, and see what Alana has to say to me tonight when we have dinner at her place.

The thing is, I got a phone number from a customer last night at work. A cute, sweet, smart, Southern customer. Who’s practically my age.

The potential drama is as thick as the humidity today. We need a good rain to clear the air.

Major updates to come.

how (not?) to date married women
October 3, 2007

After my little Sex and the City therapy session on Monday with Ford and an extensive thrift shop binge with Jane yesterday, I felt I’d exorcised Alana from my system. The obsessive cell phone checks had dropped down to about one an hour, which was an improvement. Sometimes when I’m expecting a call from a woman, I convince myself that my phone actually will not ring or vibrate and that the only way I will not miss the call for sure will be to obsessively check the tiny screen for it to light up with that magic name, at which time my heart will emanate rainbows as I pick up the silent call. I say I’m just checking the time, but please. I’m focusing hard on willing sweet little call to come through the airwaves. Cell phone whisperer.

Anyway, cell phone whispering failed. Then last night, as I was carrying two Goblin Tonics to a table of identical twin brothers with hair down to their butts, I nearly dumped my tray onto the floor when I spotted a sweet looking fortyish woman sitting in the corner, stirring a Shirley Temple. Tania, a fellow waitress, brushed up behind me and whispered, “I think someone’s here to see you.” She offered, thankfully, to take my tables for a minute.

Darcy <approaching table with ‘what are you doing here’ tone>: Well hi there.

Alana: Hey Darcy. <which she says, Dahhcy, and I just melt right there, against my will…kind of>

Darcy: Didn’t think I was going to hear from you.

Alana: I didn’t think I was going to call.

Darcy<raising eyebrows>: I can’t really talk now. I have…well, I’m working. <I see Jane frowning in the background from behind the bar, shaking her head and making the “cut” signal>

Alana: That’s okay, I’ll wait.

Darcy: It’s going to be another two hours.

Alana: Meet me at the diner across the street?

<I look over at Jane, who is now bugging her eyes out incredulously>

Darcy: Ummm…okay. I’ll call you when I get out.

We had coffee at three a.m. She didn’t offer any excuses, except for the fact that she was scared about actually loving someone outside of her marriage. I said I wouldn’t stand for being treated like a pool girl, expected to show up in a garter belt with champagne and strawberries every time her husband was out of town (although, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be so terrible…but I digress!) She was much less forward than our first meeting. Kind of shy. She has such large brown doe-eyes, and the longest lashes. She invited me to dinner at her place on Thursday. I’ll probably go.

When I got back home an hour later, I found Jane in our office, lights off, youtube videos of Mark Wahlberg glowing in reflection on her face from the computer, her ironed-straight bottle-red hair up in a ponytail, with Twizzler hanging out of her mouth. She said, “Well, it’s about time, beotch! What the deal?” I told her Alana invited me over for dinner. “Oh yah,” she said, biting off a piece of Twizzler. “Don’t say anything!” I said. She shrugged, gave me a hug, Twizzler still hanging out of her mouth, and sauntered toward her bedroom. She made a little whip-cracking motion with her hand, and said “wha-chh!” and shut the door. Whatevs.